Shire Tales in Rivendell
by Orangeblossom Brambleburr
Summary: (Completed 03/02) Sam's long vigil at Frodo's bedside leads to a telling of older, happier days. NonSlash, but somewhat ambiguous--much like the source material.
1. ~ The First Tale ~ 1382 Shire Reckoning ...

Title: Shire Tales in Rivendell   
Series: N/A   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings   
Author: Orangeblossom   
Email: rice_al@yahoo.com   
Rating: PG   
Summary: Sam's long vigil at Frodo's bedside leads to a telling of older, happier days.   
NonSlash, but somewhat ambiguous--much like the source material.  
Archiving: Ask first, Please   
Chapters: 1   
Status: Complete   
Year Completed: March 2002   
Disclaimer: Frodo? Not mine. Rivendell? Not mine. Gandalf? Not mine. Samwise? I'm   
*his* Money? I wish. Everybody ok now?   
  
Notes, Dedications & Thanks: For Jimmy, Jack and Connor because of their constant   
inspiration when it comes to writing very young (and very loved) lads. For Mike and   
Brian because of their inspiration in writing young-at-heart lads. Thanks to Petra and Em   
for betaing--can't do this stuff without you guys. More thanks to Van for the last-minute-  
addition-beta. You are awesome; glad you like semicolons.  
  
A Word on Ages: As there is some conflict in the Appendices about the relative ages of   
the hobbits, I have drawn *solely* on _The Complete Guide to Middle Earth_ by Robert   
Foster, 1971 Del Rey & Ballantine Books. The Birth Years (by the Shire Reckoning) for   
the Gamgee family, Bilbo, Frodo, Merry and Pippin are listed below the story. In this   
interpretation, Sam is *twelve* years younger than Frodo.   
  
  
Shire Tales in Rivendell  
  
  
~ The First Tale ~ 1382 Shire Reckoning ~  
  
Reckon I couldn't have been much more than three. I was playing happily in the dirt,   
diggin' and burrowin' setting out pretend gardens outside of our smial; it was there that   
the Gaffer found me, singing to myself and grubby to the tips of my ears. Normally he'd   
have had a right good laugh, maybe joined me on his knees to explain the wonders of rich   
Shire earth, but that day Mum had dressed me to go visiting and I'd made rather a mess   
of my dandy clothes.  
  
Mind you, I hadn't *meant* to, I'd only intended to scuff my feet about for a few minutes   
while I waited for Mum and the girls. But the dirt was so *nice*, so sweet-smelling and   
inviting there in the sunshine that I'd dived right in.  
  
You might say a storm was brewing on my Gaffer's face. His heavy brows drew   
together, his smile faded and with a holler he had scooped me up and stood me on my   
feet. "Samwise Gamgee, you naughty little grub, just look what you've done!" he   
bellowed, shaking my jacket so as to drive his point home.   
  
"I'm sorry, Papa," I said, biting my lip. I could taste gritty sweet soil on my skin and felt   
comforted by it. "I hadn't meant to..."   
  
He shook his head, stern-like, but his face had softened a bit. "Well, there will be no trip   
to town for *you* today, Master Samwise," he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He   
watched me twisting my hands nervously, waiting for the punishment he'd surely lay out.   
Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped my face. "Since keeping you out of   
the dirt is impossible, I think you best come along with me to Bag End and help with the   
weeding."  
  
I'm sure I lit up at those words. To see the fantastic gardens of Bag End, to actually walk   
amongst the plants I'd heard described so often! I'd dreamed of it. And perhaps I'd see   
Mr. Baggins; I loved when he'd come to visit us. Punishment! He couldn't have   
rewarded me better. I looked at him to see if he was joking; behind his angry expression   
the Gaffer's eyes were twinkling. He knew.  
  
Not to say my Gaffer spoiled me, of course. He could be mighty strict by times, and he   
didn't spare the strap when he thought us young 'uns'd be better for it. But I was always   
his pet, likely because neither of my brothers was much interested in gardening. And   
perhaps he wanted to indulge me a bit that day, as I had so recently been unseated as the   
baby of the family. I loved wee Marigold, but it's rough on any tyke when a new babe   
comes along.   
  
Soon enough he had me properly dressed in old clothes and carryin' a basket filled with   
his tools. It was a heavy burden for one so small but I didn't complain; I was far too   
excited. Bag End's gardens looked like a jungle, the plants far taller than I. I was a bit   
abashed but the Gaffer was soon kneeling beside me, my fat little fingers guided by his   
rough hands as he showed me which of them green shoots were good and which should   
ought to be pulled. I caught on quick and he left me there, headin' off to the vegetable   
patch.  
  
I was toiling away beneath one of the windows when I heard voices. One I recognized as   
Mr. Baggins, the other was young and unfamiliar. My ears pricked up at once, for the   
voices were discussing food. I suddenly felt quite hungry myself, particularly when the   
smell of mushrooms drifted to my nose. I stood on my very toes, stretching myself as tall   
as I could so I could see inside. The window box was filled with bursting, bloomy things   
and when I parted them I could see quite clear.   
  
He was laying down bread and cheese by a big dish of mushrooms, and he was blocking   
my view of his guest. When he moved I saw a hobbit, about the same age as my brother   
Hal. Dark hair and big blue eyes, and he was grinning from ear to ear. A nice looking   
young hobbit, laughing with Mr. Baggins and sneaking mushrooms when he wasn't   
looking.  
  
It was you, Mr. Frodo, but I'm sure you'd already guessed. "Bilbo," you said, "I do   
believe your snapdragons have eyes."   
  
I was excited. Dragons! Perhaps there would be a story...I strained forward a bit farther,   
and was surprised to see Bilbo's face inches from my own. "What have we here?" he   
said, smiling warmly. He reached down and caught hold of me, lifting me over the sill.   
"Well, young master Gamgee! How came you to be sneaking about my kitchen?"  
  
I felt terribly shy. "P...Please, Mr. Baggins, my Papa brought me so's...so's he could   
teach me weeds. An'...an' I'm *awful* hungry..."  
  
Bilbo laughed heartily. "Ah, dear boy, we can take care if *that* at least. Here," he said,   
gesturing to you, "This is my nephew Frodo, come to visit me. He'll help you get ready   
to eat while I go hunt up your Gaffer." He took my hand and put it in yours. "Frodo, this   
is Gamgee's youngest boy, Sam."   
  
"Hullo, Sam!" you said cheerfully. "Hurry, Bilbo, if this sprout is half as hungry as I am   
he may faint!"   
  
When Bilbo'd went out to the garden you pulled me to the washbasin, scooping me up   
so's I could reach. The water was warm, and you washed my hands and face as if you   
were used to bathing small, squirming children--I reckon you were, after all you watched   
Merry so often when he was a tot. Bilbo's soap was different from any I'd ever seen; it   
was bright blue and made floating bubbles in many colors. I was fascinated--you must   
have thought it was funny; you amused me by blowing the biggest bubbles I'd ever seen.  
  
"Well my lads, are you cleaned up?" Bilbo's voice rang through the kitchen. You   
laughed and dried me off, setting me on the floor.   
  
"Just showing Sam the magic soap," you said, ruffling my hair before you sat. The table   
was far too high for me, so my Gaffer sat me on his lap. As we ate he got quite involved   
in a discussion about taters with Bilbo and it seemed he quite forgot I was there; I ate far   
more than was good for me under his very nose.  
  
After a while Bilbo and the Gaffer were arguing good-naturedly over something in the   
garden. I rubbed my eyes sleepily; I was so tired. When I yawned you laughed and   
interrupted.   
  
"Looks like the sprout could do with a nap. He can rest in my room if you like, I could   
do with an after-tea sleep myself." You stood and held out your hand to me.   
  
My Gaffer looked at me for a moment and nodded. "Thank you, young master. See he   
doesn't sleep to long, now, or he'll be up all night and his mum will have my hide," He   
laughed and kissed me. "Go with Mr. Frodo now, and be a good boy."  
  
I stumbled over my feet as you led me down the hall; I was tired and my tummy was   
feeling decidedly queer. Your legs were much longer than mine; I could have taken five   
steps for each one of yours but you walked slow and patient, humming softly.  
  
Your room was mighty bare for a hobbit-lad, no pictures or drawings or *anything* on   
the walls, no games or toys on the shelves, no clothes bunched on the floor. You looked   
around it proud-like anyway. "Someday, Sam," you said half to yourself, "someday   
when I come to live here this will be my very own room. Fancy that, a room all to   
myself."  
  
It seemed a rare and great thing to me; my own lot was cast in with two hobbit lads over a   
decade my senior who delighted in teasing their small brother. I wished that someday *I*   
would have such a fine room to myself, but for the time being I just wondered where I   
was to sleep. The bed was far wider than any I was used to; at home I still slept in a   
basket. I yawned again, wishing my stomach wouldn't feel so odd. You smiled and   
helped me undress to my shirt so I would be more comfortable and dropped me in the   
middle of your great bed. Your brows furrowed; you looked concerned, "Are you all   
right? You're quite pale there, little fellow."  
  
What happened next was a source of shame for me for many years after. I opened my   
mouth to say that I was all right and was suddenly very, very sick. You gave a shout of   
dismay and said something sharp, but I don't rightly remember what as I was crying,   
bawling really. I was afraid and wanted my Mum.  
  
The tears washed your anger clean away. You gently lifted me from the ruined sheets,   
catching up a towel to wipe my sticky cheeks and checking my shirt for damage--  
somehow I'd managed not to stain it. I was still howling; you gathered me in your arms   
and sat in a chair, rocking me just like Mum would. "Shh....Sam, sweet little Sam, you   
mustn't cry so or you'll be sick again," you said softly, stroking my hair back from my   
face. I snuffled a bit and swiped at my nose with my sleeve, gulping and hitching until   
I'd calmed. "Now then, dear boy, do you still feel ill?"  
  
"No sir," I said sadly, "my tummy felt better right away but the rest of me felt worse. I'm   
sorry Mister Frodo..."  
  
"Don't be sorry, sprout, it wasn't your fault. Now, let me pull off those covers--lucky   
today's washday--and if you think you can manage it you can pull a clean blanket out of   
that chest there. Then we'll bundle up nice and warm and I'll tell you a story to help you   
sleep."   
  
I sniffed again but smiled shyly; you were so nice to me. I pulled a blanket from the   
chest you showed me; it was heavy and smelled of lavender, and by the time I'd wrestled   
it to the bed you'd tied the soiled covers into a neat bundle. You took the blanket from   
me and spread it out, then shed your own weskit and braces. Carefully you set me in the   
bed and covered me snugly before you lay next to me, stroking my hair. "Now then,   
what kind of story would you like?"   
  
I was so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open, but I loved Mr. Baggins's stories and   
wondered if yours would be as good. "Do you know stories about Elves?" I asked,   
hopeful. Even at three Elf-stories were my favorite, though I'd only heard a few.   
  
You grinned. "Ah, I see you've already heard some of my Uncle's tales, eh? Well, let see   
now...would you like to hear about the magic Elf-boat that sails to the West? Or has   
Bilbo already spun that tale?"   
  
He had, and I told you. "Will you tell it again anyway?" I asked, as polite as I knew how   
to be. You nodded and settled in to the tale. Your voice was interesting like Bilbo's, but   
different, kind of sweeter somehow. I fought to stay awake, to listen to your voice, but   
sleep is stronger than baby hobbits and I lost the battle almost before it began.  
  
I don't know how long I slept.  
  
When I awoke you were dozing next to me, snoring softly. I lay quiet, watching you. I   
wanted you to be awake and tell me more stories but I was far too shy to wake you, so I   
just watched the steady rise and fall of your chest until I heard the Gaffer's voice calling.   
You woke up then and I was the first thing you saw; you grinned at me and tweaked my   
nose.  
  
Oh Mr. Frodo, I wish you'd wake like that again now. I'd even do with the nose-  
tweaking.  
  
Where was I? Oh yes. The Gaffer collected me, saying it was time I was home and   
leaving you and Mr. Bilbo alone. I was sad to leave, I wanted to stay and play. But the   
Gaffer was firm and you didn't move to stop him; I imagine a pudgy three-year-old was   
an unsatisfactory playmate for a lad of fifteen; certainly Halfred would agree--he hated   
me tagging at his heels when he was up to mischief. But you didn't look like the sort of   
fellow who'd bark at a lad like me just for following along.  
  
"Can we come see Mr. Frodo and Mr. Baggins again Papa?" I asked as we left.   
  
He chuckled. "Oh, I have no doubt you'll be up at Bag End plenty, Sam-lad. I'm going to   
make a right fine gardener of you, my boy, and someday you'll work in that garden every   
day. Doubtless you'll see your Mr. Frodo then." He scratched his head. "Mr. Baggins   
has got a mind to learn you letters and such one of these days; I reckon you're too young   
for that yet. But perhaps once that scamp of a nephew moves up from Buckland you   
might take your lessons with him." I didn't really understand, but I was excited by the   
prospect of more time at Bag End, and of seeing you again. I guess you could say I knew   
even then that you and I might have some times together ahead.  
  
**** **** ****  
  
Well now. Lets see, what other tales bear tellin'? I s'pose it don't much matter, I doubt   
you can hear me. But what if you can? What if in that darkness you hear your Sam's   
voice talking, calling to you, maybe then you'll follow me back to the light?   
  
Mr. Frodo? Oh, won't you come back? You can't leave me here like this. I can't find   
my way home without you. There *is* no home without you, Mr. Frodo.   
  
I've been holding your hand for two days now, and you've done aught but twitch and   
murmur. Master Elrond comes in often and I am shooed away; I don't like being pulled   
from your side but I reckon he needs the space to work. He frowns over you and pulls   
back them yellowy bandages to touch that awful spot, pale and gray and yet still angry-  
looking on your skin. Gandalf comes in often too, sometimes he sits here. He tells   
stories, which makes me think I might be on the right track after all. He brings in some   
food for me as well, reckon he knows I won't leave for bite and sup. Nor to sleep--I   
*can't* sleep. Closest I can come is to kneel by the bed and rest my head on your hand--  
*so*--so if you needs me I'll feel it. But even then I can't relax.  
  
But there, I'm likely worrying you, if you can hear me. No, best to keep telling stories.   
Happy stories that would make you smile if you were awake. Might make you smile to   
know all the others have been by at least once. Aragorn comes sometimes, and Merry   
and Pippin come by when they think of it--they're off explorin' the wonders of Rivendell.   
Irresponsible rips, ain't they? But then they feel it sharp as I do, it's just how they are to   
make merry and hide it. Bilbo came in for a while, but he couldn't bear to see you hurtin'   
so, he cried a bit and said some not-very-nice things about himself, and rings, and that   
awful Gollum-creature.   
  
Oh, Mr. Frodo, its right down hard to see you lyin' there. You mutter parts of our journey   
as if you're reliving them. Ain't much pleasure there, that's a fact, once was more'n   
enough. But you're alive. You're alive and you're breathing and so long as you're here I   
feel sure you will be all right in time. You're skin is warm now. And it seems to me you   
don't fret quite so much when I'm talking.  
  
Ah, but I run on so! Best find another tale. Wish I had a knack for them like you and   
Bilbo do, but I reckon you need to have some adventures before you can have good tales.   
My adventures have been small, so all my stories follow. Silly little things, but things   
that are good and solid and homey, maybe they'll help. Make you feel at home. 


	2. ~ The Second Tale ~ 1392 Shire Reckoning...

Please See The First Tale for Disclaimers and Notes.  
  
**** **** ****  
  
~ The Second Tale ~ 1392 Shire Reckoning ~  
  
Now then...I reckon you'll remember this one here, but I'll tell it anyway. You had lived   
at Bag End for some time, then. You must have been...oh, twenty-five, perhaps? A   
tweenager, certainly. Merry had come to visit for a fortnight, you had many adventures   
planned. Bilbo would bid you take me along; he always seemed to understand how I   
looked on you as hero and brother and friend all at once--I was excited; much as I   
enjoyed quiet pursuits like hearing tales by the fire, time with you and Merry smacked of   
adventure like few things did.  
  
Then May got sick.   
  
It started small; she just didn't feel right, then she broke out in spots all across her pretty   
face. Brambleberry Fever, it was, and quick as can be all us Gamgee young 'uns were   
down with it, itching and miserable. And there was to be no going and coming from Bag   
End then; though I was able the Gaffer said I mustn't spread the fever to you.   
  
I was mighty unhappy; I knew I was missing out on something right good and fun with   
Merry there visiting. But the second day I was sick Mr. Bilbo himself showed up at our   
house.  
  
"Gaffer," he said, looking tired, "I've got two boys down with that Brambleberry Fever,   
and they're bouncing off the walls. What on earth do you do with your houseful when   
they're all sick?"  
  
My Gaffer laughed good and hearty. "I wish I knew what to do, Mr. Baggins, I've got   
five o' my own itchin' and sufferin'. Poor wee things; well I remember that. How old   
was you when you got it?"   
  
Bilbo shrugged. "I've never had it, myself."   
  
My Gaffer looked worried. "Brambleberry Fever's not a thing to trifle with when you're   
our age, that's a fact. There's folks as have died catchin' it out of childhood."   
  
Now Bilbo too looked alarmed. "Oh dear...what shall be done? I can't send young Merry   
home in such a state, nor do I dare leave them home alone--and then where would I go   
anyway? Oh, drat it all, this would happen now."  
  
"Well then, you best send those lads here until they're past giving you the fever--it'll be a   
mite crowded, but better crowded then dead, begging your pardon. Lucky thing Ham's   
off, else there'd be flat no room for more bodies. Frodo can have Ham's space, and   
master Meriadoc will have to share with Samwise, here."  
  
Bilbo sighed. "It will be such a bother, Gaffer. I hate to impose on you so, when you   
already work harder than you ought. I'll do some cooking at least, help out feeding that   
rascal nephew of mine and his cousin." He shook his head. "You've fair set yourself for   
it, but I suppose there's not much else to be done. I'll send them down straightaway.   
  
For such a sick little mite, I was has happy as I could be. Imagine, you would be in my   
own house, in my own room, and Merry too! I wouldn't miss out on anything after all.   
In an hour or so you were tucked up into Ham's bed, and Merry was bouncing on my   
own. Mum brought in tea and bade us not to make noise, and under no circumstances to   
scratch our spots, and then she left us on our own.   
  
Merry couldn't sit still. He bounced around the little room, flapping his hands in the air   
to keep from scratching. "This itching will drive me mad!" he yelped, flopping back on   
the bed at last, though not exhausted.   
  
You looked right miserable yourself; you had the worse case of all of us, being the oldest.   
You had spots all over your face and arms, and from the way you were shifting I'd guess   
you had 'em in worse places than that. "Well, we've got to do something to distract   
ourselves. Lets pretend we're on an adventure, like Bilbo would have. Here, Sam," you   
said, "set us up a tent." You started pulling blankets off the beds and draping them so   
they looked like one.   
  
My brother Halfred looked at us wide-eyed. "What're you doin'?" he asked, confused.   
  
"We're going on an adventure!" Merry said cheekily, diving under the covers. I dug in a   
box and came up with a bit of string--between us Merry and I tied up the corners of a   
blanket so it made a proper tent.  
  
Hal rolled his eyes and ducked back onto the bed, fists clutching his blanket so we   
couldn't take it. "You're all cracked," he said, swiping at the spots on his brow.   
  
You didn't pay him no mind, you got on your hands and knees and crawled into our tent.   
"Come on, you two!" you said, but not before you'd thrown a pillow at Hal.   
  
The tent was dark inside, and Merry and I couldn't sit still, we were so excited. Riled up,   
he pounced on me and we wrestled a bit, you laughing the whole time. Finally you   
pulled us apart. "Shhhh!" you said, eyes big. "You two shouldn't make such noise, you'll   
wake the dragon!"   
  
Right away Merry and I played along. We decided that we were camped at the feet of the   
Misty Mountains, on a trek for a dragon's hoard. You told us long and scary tales of how   
the Dragons came to be, and just how one might go about stealing from one without   
losing one's head.   
  
Suddenly something roared and crashed into the tent. All three of us had gotten so   
involved in the tale that we'd clean forgotten that we were just pretending--Merry and I   
dove headfirst into each other in our haste to hide from whatever monster had made that   
awful roar. But you jumped up and once and pulled the tent apart, bold as brass.  
  
And there was Hal, laughing fit to die that he'd scared us. You were on him at once and   
now it was you and Hal wrestling, only you weren't playing as Merry and I had been.   
You were furious that he'd startled us, and moreso that he'd spoilt your story. You fought   
him with such fury that I started to cry, whereas Merry thought it was great fun and   
cheered you on.  
  
"WHAT is going on in here?" my Gaffer's voice boomed, freezing us all in place. His   
timing was quite lucky, as Halfred had gotten atop you and had been about to land a good   
punch to the face. My old dad took one look at him and hauled him off you by the   
britches, mad as can be. "What kind of a son is this, that strikes out at our guest?" he   
said, shaking Hal. Hal looked down and didn't say a word, just mumbled something   
about queer hobbits and adventures. The Gaffer looked Merry and me over, then you at   
last. "I think you ought to sleep in the gable and leave these boys be," he said, shaking   
Hal once more.  
  
Halfred beamed--he loved sleeping in the gable, getting some space to himself. "No   
punishment, that," he said recklessly. "Have fun, little ones," he added defiantly as the   
Gaffer pushed him out. I found out later that the Gaffer strapped him good and proper   
and sent him to bed without supper--the latter was a punishment to be sure and gives me   
a laugh to this day.  
  
He looked back over his shoulder for a moment. "You there, you three, best get some   
rest. I'll send Mum in with something for you to eat. Try not to make too much ruckus,   
now."   
  
Once they were gone you had us back in the tent, but the spell weren't quite the same.   
Merry wanted to talk about the fight, and I just wanted to be close to you and make sure   
Hal's fists hadn't hurt you at all. You laughed at my concern but not unkindly. "Sam,"   
you said, shaking your head, "It takes more than an angry hobbit-lad to get me down."   
  
**** **** ****  
  
Aye, that was true. Took nothing short of one of them riders. But I won't speak of that,   
that's dark talk and has no place in a sickroom. My throat is getting dry, but then Gandalf   
will be sure to bring something in later. Now I'm just going to stand here for a   
moment...ahhh...yes, that's better. Let me straighten your pillows a bit here, and...oh, Mr.   
Frodo. Won't you wake up? Just think, you could have something nice to eat, and we   
could walk the gardens. Pippin says there's bloomy things like he's never seen anywhere,   
and don't you want to see that? We could walk for a bit, help you get your strength back.   
And if you wanted I'd keep telling tales, or I'd be quiet for a while and just be near you.   
Perhaps you're tired of hearing your Sam blather on about old times, but its either that or   
sit in silence and I can't quite manage that. Not when you're so silent yourself...  
  
Pull up short, Samwise. You're running on at the mouth again. No good in that. But   
what if you don't wake up? What if...oh, I can't bear to think of it, let alone speak of it.   
No. There's so much left to say yet, Mr. Frodo. There's so many things...ah, I'm a fool!   
  
What am I to do? There don't seem to be much good in me sitting here, babbling on for   
hours by times. But if I'm not talking to you then...well, I reckon I'm flat useless. I'd   
have no connection to you iffin I don't talk.  
  
And there's lots I think I ought to say, but I ain't sure how to go about such a thing. I   
don't...well now, I don't know. Gaffer used to tell me that some things are all the better   
not said, but I'm wondering if this is one of them. My Dad was mighty wise about some   
things...  
  
Maybe I ought to talk to Gandalf? No. I reckon if I can't screw up the courage to talk   
about it with you layin' quiet and probably not hearing, then its not likely I'll be easy   
talking it over with someone else, that's a fact. 


	3. ~ The Third Tale ~ 1397 Shire Reckoning ...

Please See The First Tale for Disclaimers and Notes.  
  
**** **** ****  
  
~ The Third Tale ~ 1397 Shire Reckoning ~  
  
  
Well. Lets see now. I was eighteen, I remember that clear because my brother Ham had   
just come of age, and this was not long after his party. That would put you at about   
thirty, I reckon. I was working in the garden; of course, by then the Gaffer was already   
handin' much of the work to me--seems rather funny, as he wasn't all that much older   
than you are now. Fancy that! 'Course it seemed to me he was plenty old back then, and   
I was happy to be takin' responsibility for Bag End's gardens.   
  
I was on my knees whistling and doing some late planting and suddenly I had the feeling   
I wasn't by meself anymore. I looked up and there you were, standing full in the sun with   
an empty pack in your hands.  
  
"Sam," you said, "I've a mind to trek off to Buckland and go visiting. I don't want to   
hurry when its so nice out, so I thought I'd make a couple days journey of it, nice and   
easy and camp out under the stars. But," you added with a laugh, "I'll get frightful lonely.   
Would you like to come along?"  
  
Master, I didn't want anything more, but I didn't like to jump on the offer like I was   
waitin' there for it to come. "Well sir," I said, slow-like, "I reckon I should at least finish   
these beds here 'fore I go off, but yes, I'll come with."   
  
You smiled, and it went right to my heart, beggin' your pardon. Made me happy 'cause   
I'd made *you* happy. "All right, Sam, don't be long. I'll get our packs ready."  
  
I don't know that I've ever worked so fast, before or since; I got them seeds down so fast   
the dirt must o' wondered what had taken over me. It was morning when you'd asked and   
I had things done before Elevenses. I sent word to my folks that I'd be abroad for a bit--  
you and I had ourselves a nice meal and then set out into the warm afternoon sun, just   
laughing and talking and singing some of Bilbo's walking songs.  
  
As much as it meant to me, you'd think I'd remember every word as was said as we   
walked along, but I don't. What I do remember was the way everything seemed prettier   
than usual; it looked like someone had taken a great blue bowl and dipped the edges in   
honey before lowering it over the whole of the Shire. Bees were buzzing around the   
flowers by the side of the road, and little living things, coneys and chipmunks and such   
were rustling about in the bracken. We walked for a long time until the sun started to go   
down, by then I'm sure we were both mighty hungry.  
  
You picked out where we'd rest; it was a spot what looked like someone had scooped it   
out of the hill with a giant spoon. We laid out our bedrolls before I built us a nice fire,   
pulling out some of the bread and such that we'd brought along.  
  
I wonder if you remember that sunset. The sun was as orange as orange could be, and as   
she sank behind the hills the sky turned pink and orange and purple, like flower petals.   
Wouldn't normally reckon that orange and purple would look so nice together, would   
you? But that they did, it was so pretty that we just sat there quiet-like and watched until   
it was all dark and blue.  
  
You pulled out your pipe and lit it. I was still mighty young and didn't have one of my   
own yet, and you let me try a puff or two of yours--the smoke tasted sweet but it made   
me cough. You laughed and pounded my back a few times until I'd gotten back under   
control and then showed me how to breath it in careful, so's I could get used to it. It   
didn't take long before I had it down and we were passing that old wooden pipe back and   
forth as we talked.  
  
The stars were so bright out there in that field, far from any torches and house-lights that   
might distract us and it was so quiet. I could hear crickets--not like them yammering   
Neeker Breekers we heard coming in but nice ones like you hear around Midsummer. It   
was a chilly night, though--don't think either of us had expected it would be so cold, and   
we'd brought only light summer bedrolls.   
  
"Sam," you said, "I think we best wrap up together to keep warm." I'd thought the same   
thing but hadn't spoken up, as for some reason I felt shy. Couldn't say why back then; it   
weren't unusual for lads to double up sleeping quarters; maybe because we hadn't slept so   
close since we'd both been kids, but it seemed strange whether or no. At any rate, I didn't   
say anything, just bundled in close to you. It really was warmer all snugged up like that,   
and it was comfortable too; you fell asleep almost as soon as we lay down. I stayed   
awake a long time, just thinking of how nice it was, being together, and being glad you'd   
brought me along. I'd already decided I liked taking care of you, but I think I realized on   
that night that I *wanted* to take care of you, to go wherever you went and do for you   
whatever needed done. I'd never been gladder to be a Gamgee, because I knew that was   
just what I was to do; just like my old Dad watched out for Mr. Baggins before, I'd watch   
over you. Only I'd do one better; I wouldn't let you go off on any adventures without me,   
and see, I've kept that promise.   
  
The morning was pretty and clear and we woke up with dew in our hair. It was still cold   
but the sky was so clear and soft that I felt sure we'd have us another fine day for   
walking.  
  
What's odd is I don't recall much else about that trip; I know we got to Buckland that very   
day. Merry was happy to have us there--he'd been put in charge of Pippin and was glad   
to have another pair of hands to keep him out of trouble. I tell you, it was beyond me to   
keep up with that rascal of a Took; he was into new mischief before he was out of the old,   
but both you and Merry had a bit of a rascally streak in you too and I found I was going   
along with plots and plans I'd never have otherwise. Like raidin' the pantries.  
  
Pippin wanted a snack, do you remember him going about saying he needed nine meals a   
day, one for each year of his life? You asked him if you ought to have thirty meals then,   
and I recall as he looked at you like you weren't quite right in the head.  
  
He was a scoundrel; before we'd even realized what he was about he was gone. Merry   
wasn't happy at all; he knew well he'd be in the stew alongside his cousin if they were   
caught. "Fool of a Took," he muttered as we went off, you leading the way, certain he'd   
made for the pantries.  
  
The pantries in the Great Smial were far greater than any I'd ever seen; they were a series   
of tunnels and rooms that branched off one from the other, all stacked and filled to   
bursting with food enough to feed an army. Merry looked rather hungry just being there   
and I was a mite worried about it; I didn't want more thieving going on. You suggested   
we split up to find Pippin and were off at once leaving me alone to seek young Master   
Took.   
  
He wasn't fair easy to find, tucked up as he was in a corner and eating a custard with   
great gusto. He hadn't heard me come upon him and gave quite a start when I took his   
spoon. "That's *mine*," he yelped.  
  
I drew myself up to what height I had and put my hands on my hips, a picture of the   
Gaffer in my mind as I tried to strike the same pose he'd use with me. "I'll have none of   
your sauce, young master, " I said, pulling him to his feet.  
  
Reckon I must have done my Dad proud, for Pippin was repentant at once. "I'm sorry,   
Mr. Gamgee, sir," says he with them eyes of his all round.   
  
Master, I was so surprised that I laughed out loud, and so heartily that I had to sit down   
for a moment; don't suppose I'd ever been called by such respectful titles before. "Ah,   
Pippin," I said, "you needn't be callin' the likes of me sir. Come along now, Mr. Frodo   
and your cousin are sure to be waiting for us." He followed along well enough but I   
caught him a few times pinching things out of the barrels as we passed, tucking nuts and   
berries and such into his pockets.  
  
We found you back in Merry's chambers with your hands full of yellow apples; Pippin lit   
up to see them. "Here, Sam," you said, holding one out to me, "they're perfect." I must   
have shown something on my face that made you come close and put an arm about my   
shoulders so you could whisper to me that you hadn't nicked them: you'd slipped off and   
asked the cook for the apples, and Merry was none the wiser. I don't know if you done   
that for me or just because you thought it was the right thing to do, but I can say as those   
apples tasted mighty sweet.  
  
I remember we spent a good fortnight there in Buckland. You let me stay with you and   
Merry most of the time instead of sending me off with the servants in the Great Smial as   
was likely proper--really, Mr. Frodo, you've always treated me more as a friend than   
anything else. Trip home don't stand out in my memory, either; seems it ought, but it   
doesn't. If I remember rightly we made the trek back in one day; I think rains were   
blowing in. Its strange, Mr. Frodo, why is it I remember so much of the trip there, but   
none on the trip back?  
  
**** **** ****  
  
Seems like you're improving. Mr. Frodo. When I look at you here its almost...its almost   
as if you're lit up, begging your pardon. That is to say, its like there's light inside you   
somehow. And you don't seem to have half so many nightmares. Master Elrond don't   
look quite so grave no more, neither, nor Gandalf. Might be you're going to wake soon,   
and I'll be a right happy hobbit when you do.   
  
But there's something as I have to say before you do wake up, because I reckon I'll never   
have the courage to once you're about, lookin' on me with those great eyes of yours. I   
love you, Mr. Frodo. I do, and the more I'm thinkin' on it, the more I see as I always   
have, from that very first day. Don't know as how I'd not seen it before, but sometimes   
you don't know just how pretty the garden is until you're readying for winter--when you   
look out and its brown and bare you know how much them flowers mean to you.   
  
Well, now I've said it, and I don't know as I should have. Not my place to say such   
things, and I'm of two minds whether I want you to have heard. There's a part of me what   
wants you to open your eyes--well, all o' me wants that, of course, but I rather think I   
want to know what's goin' on behind them. And then there's the part that's scared to ever   
see that, scared that you might remember what I been saying--not the stories, mind you.   
  
Gandalf has come, Mr. Frodo, and he's wantin' me to go for a walk. I don't want to leave   
your side, Mr. Frodo, if you are sleeping awful peaceful-like now. And Gandalf will be   
right here... *Yes sir, Mr. Gandalf* ...I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, but he's mighty set on me   
goin' out for a bit; he hasn't been so stern with me before. And I'll come back   
straightaway, so you needn't worry... *Yes, sir, I'm going, just a moment* ...I'm sorry, Mr.   
Frodo, but I give you my word as a Gamgee I'll return as quick as you like, and I'll tell   
you more tales, and maybe then you'll wake up.   
  
~~End~~  
  
Birth years:  
  
Bilbo Baggins 1289 SR  
Hamfast "Gaffer" Gamgee 1325 SR  
Hamson Gamgee 1364 SR  
Frodo Baggins 1367 SR  
Halfred Gamgee 1368 SR  
Daisy Gamgee 1371 SR  
May Gamgee 1375 SR   
Samwise Gamgee 1379 SR  
Merry Brandybuck 1381 SR  
Marigold Gamgee 1382 SR  
Pippin Took 1389 SR 


End file.
